


The Moon

by kingleedo



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, But Hwanwoong Doesn't Know Who Keonhee Is, Keonhee Has Fears, M/M, Mutual Pining?, Sad Keonhee, Spicy Dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 23:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingleedo/pseuds/kingleedo
Summary: Hwanwoong yearned to be on stage.With him.He wanted to teach him all his secrets, he wanted to show him how to demand the audience. He wanted to feel his body near his, to put on a show for thousands to see. He wanted to feel hot breath on his skin, to hear it next to his ear after dancing their hearts out. He wanted to perform... but withhimKeonhee wanted that, too, but he would never be good enough.//in which Keonhee has looked up to best dancer Hwanwoong and Hwanwoong has wanted to know who the boy with the beautiful voice was since junior high.





	The Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [November Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19702576) by [MXXNTAEIL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MXXNTAEIL/pseuds/MXXNTAEIL). 



> help how do i write summaries :(

Keonhee watched the moon, forgetting the world once again.

It was burning white and had that bright ring around it.

Piercing. Shining.

It glowed in the sky, a black sea absent of everything but the moon, all alone, and even if it wasn’t alone, even if there were stars in the sky or islands in the sea, it’d still be center stage. It’d overpower all around it, as it had always done.

Keonhee sat with his head draped back on a bench, stared at that immaculate moon, felt small in its presence. It stared back, strikingly strong and with a confidence so proud one might fear their very existence would taint its beauty.

To think Keonhee would be so pathetic as to worship the moon, as if it’s presence was a blessing, but maybe it was. Maybe it was the only beautiful thing left in the world, and not the beauty of looks or worse but warmth and compassion. Genuine goodness. A hug after crying, a caress after pain.

The moon was comforting, an escape when all Keonhee needed was something and the moon was all he had.

But the moon was all he had.

He came to forget the world, but he never knew if he really did that. There was always a lingering ache and a nagging biting that never left, and those feelings became the black sea around him, enveloping him, trapping him. Where could he go to escape them?

Escape his mistakes, escape his failures? They tormented him, and every time he tried standing up to them, he’d get hit once again. Once again.

All over again.

And that made it worse, made it harder to get back up. Every time he was hit, it reminded him of why he should stay on the floor, and everyone said that every time you fell, you’d get back up stronger, but it only made Keonhee more scared, more anxious, more frightened and terrified, and those feelings ate away at his mind, constantly. Constantly.

And he was all alone in his struggle, surrounded by a black sea with no island or a night sky with no stars, but he wasn’t the moon. He could never be.

Keonhee checked the time. It was late, so he stood up and from the bench. He was only 18, but his muscles seemed tight and his bones seemed to grind against each other. He was only 18, but he felt worn.

On his way to the dorm, he kept his earbuds in, and it helped in some ways but in other ways just egged on his dark feelings. He was heavy.

Weighted.

Like thick air pressing onto him, or shadows grabbing hold of his arms and pulling him down, down to the ground.

When would he be good enough?

When would the stage stop terrorizing him?

His dreams of performing, of dancing and singing, would they forever be just that? Embarrassing, childish dreams that he needed to forget?

Forget. Perhaps that’s why he came to watch the sky, but it never helped much, only encouraged the pain and the thoughts he should be someone else.

He slept fine that night, the true black sea engulfing him, but he was taken from it by his alarm screeching at 5 AM, and grimacing, Keonhee forced himself up. Dongju squirmed under the sheets at the sound of the alarm, as he always did, and Keonhee checked to make sure all alarms were off, careful not to bother his roommate again. After a quick hygiene cleanup and dressing, Keonhee made his way to the arts’ building.

He listened to his earbuds as he went and heard nothing outside them. The sun was only barely peeking itself up, so there was still an indigo hue in the sky. He looked like a shadow in the dimness, the single soul ever journeying the campus at this time. The nightwalkers had finally succumbed to sleep, and the early risers had no reason to leave their dorm.

So Keonhee, for a short window of time, was the only one outside on campus, and it was necessary for his agreement.

It was the only time he had to use the stage, to fix this broken relationship of his.

The dance instructor, a contract, and anxiety got him this right. It didn’t feel good, not one bit. To be helpless, to need additional resources, and coming out here in the mornings always reminded him of that helplessness and made him feel worse. He never wanted to wake up and come out, but it was the only way to get rid of the perturbation the stage caused.

Keonhee went past the cafeteria, which was in the opposite direction of the arts’ building, then into the woods behind it. His music was loud in his ears, silencing the outside world, and goosebumps ran up his body. He shivered as the music blanketed him with dark thoughts. If it was a happy song, he felt intimidated, and if it was a sad song, he felt good but in a bad way. He felt like he was accompanied by something, he felt like something understood his pain—and that was good. But it deepened his sadness more, and that was bad.

Why was he entering the woods in the opposite direction of the arts’ building? Simple. He went through the woods to get to the backdoor of the arts’ building, so nobody would track him heading straight towards it. Keonhee wanted this all to stay a secret as much as possible.

He’d been doing this a while now, so he was no longer careful with closing the door. Instead, he ripped it open and entered his second home. As usual he fixed the alarm system, turned on the lights, and signed himself in on the ‘Keonhee Sign-In Sheet’. It wasn’t called that, but it might as well have been.

Into the practice auditorium he went, and the air felt strange—as it always did—a creeping feeling like something was bound to go wrong. He stopped at the stage and rested a hand on it, taking a deep breath. It was large and looming, and he hesitated, feeling heavy once more. His breath stuttered as he reminded himself to start.

As always, he dragged out his phone, traipsed up the steps, and took deep and calming breaths, trepidation poking at his heart.

He stood tall looking out and towards the seats. The abyss, as empty as it was, menaced him. Keonhee turned, and that would be the last he’d see of the great expanse until it was time to leave.

He took out his earbuds and let the music play aloud as he warmed up. He stretched a while then got up, starting his move to the song’s rhythm.

There was an agitated apprehension to his motions as he had to consciously focus on moving. He couldn’t just feel the dance, he had to force himself to move, force himself to block out the obsessive thoughts that kept him from feeling his confidence.

As always. 

And maybe it wasn’t even thoughts he had to block but emotions. He never thought anything. He only felt. Felt the despise of his worthlessness, felt the rooted ugliness that he was. Dancing, he felt the way it mocked him and reminded him of his mistakes and failures. Every move he made, something in his head would bite and cringe. Every time he danced, something told him that it was not good enough, that the dream in his head was impossible and this was true because he was not that dream yet. And the harder he tried to get off the floor, the harder it would get to do so and the more it reminded him of why he should stay on the ground. These feelings were rooted deep in his mind, and it tormented him.

He was angry.

And he let it out.

The song grew darker, and Keonhee reacted. He grabbed his head and he threw his arms and he twisted and writhed as he forced himself to dance. He let the anger override his fear, asked for it to.

I don’t want to be trapped anymore, he thought. _I don’t want to suffer anymore, I don’t want to feel this pain._

He just wanted to dance.

He wanted to dance freely, not controlled by the fear or the anger in which he felt, and a violin came from his phone as the song switched, and it was heavy.

He was sad.

And though his movements grew softer, they required more energy.

His hand was up, reaching for something, but it slid down and out to his right, palm up. He watched his fingers fall towards the ground. The song grew tenser, stronger, and the sadness grew into despair. His body made quick jerks as he fought the emotions in his head, and as the song came to a close, he grabbed at his chest and fell to his knees. He made a motion like taking out his heart and held up a hand, giving away that heart of his.

Keonhee was scared.

And he wondered when he wouldn’t be anymore.

He wondered why it took effort to be happy. He wondered why the stage frightened him so much. He wondered if he should even dance… if it caused him so much turmoil. A faint needle would pierce his heart every time he thought that.

He kept dancing, and in the process, he forgot something else.

He forgot about the talent he already had, what made him special. He overlooked it, thought nothing of it, and all because he couldn’t get his mind off the horridness of his dancing. 

Instead of doing that, he kept dancing.

6:30 came, and he gathered his things and left. 4:30 came, and he was back. But this time, he found a seat in the back of the auditorium. He came now to watch.

When recitals were coming up, the dance program used the auditorium in the evenings to get a feel for the stage. People were allowed to come in and watch as long as they stayed near the back and were quiet. The lights were off in the back seats too so visitors couldn’t be distractions.

The dancers were warming up and stretching all over the place, and the dance director was instructing someone to do something, and that’s when she looked up and said, “From the top.”

The dancers scattered into place. Three began their performance. It should have lasted 13 minutes, but it lasted 30 with all the corrections the director was making, and it took an hour before he came on stage.

Who?

Hwanwoong.

Keonhee took a deep breath and rested his head on his palm. He watched tiredly.

He watched tiredly Hwanwoong who he could never have, never cry to. Never speak to, never call his.

Hwanwoong was adored by everyone. From the moment Keonhee first saw him in junior high, he was surrounded by people, and these people were one big wall. They were talented and beautiful; they were always better than Keonhee somehow, and Hwanwoong was their king. However, they were crude, and Hwanwoong was kind.

Hwanwoong was always so close yet so far away. His smile was the brightest thing around. His eyes were the warmest. Nobody could deny his charms.

Not even Keonhee.

And Keonhee would never be good enough for Hwanwoong. He’d never get to feel his warmth, he’d never be the reason for his smile. Keonhee was supposed to escape his school life when he went to college, but the pain just followed.

Hwanwoong was still in his life, and Keonhee was still weighed down by the fact.

Hwanwoong started his piece, and from the very first second, he had already outshone everyone in the room. His head was held high with confidence and strength. He glowed under the light of the stage.

He was piercing. Shining.

The world drowned away in Keonhee’s mind, and it was now only him and Hwanwoong. He watched Hwanwoong stepped around his partner, eyeing her with provocation, and they began a game of tug-of-war.

Hwanwoong was beautiful.

The way the light caressed his soft and honey-like skin. The way his chest lifted and fell as he tired from dancing and yet remained strong with poise.

He chased after the girl, demonstrating his grace and eloquence. She played with him, showing love to his grace but pulling back anytime he moved close to her. The song grew darker and his dance, harsher. She fought with him, and after the turmoil that was the climax, she vanished from the stage.

His hand thrown outward, yearning, he watched with agony as the one he loved left him.

Hwanwoong...

Did he know how it felt?

To yearn for someone who didn’t love him back?

Did he know? The ache and emptiness that came from it? Did he know? That someone looked at him the way he looked right now?

Did he know how highly Keonhee thought of him?

Hwanwoong...

He was beautiful.

But not because of the way he glowed or danced, but because of his powerful heart. The way his smile told you he cared, the way he his eyes told you he loved for eternity.

How compassionate he was. How thoughtful. How strong and willful.

How patient and sweet and gentle and loving.

How _beautiful_ he was. Truly beautiful.

The second segment ended with Hwanwoong clutching his chest on the ground.

The third act began and he found the girl who truly loved him. They danced around each other; the song was light, and they complimented each other, falling into perfect rhythm. Hwanwoong’s performance closed with him leaning over her, her body in his hand.

Their performance was flawless, and Keonhee felt heavy, once again, as he realized he would never be as good as, he would never be enough for…

Hwanwoong.


End file.
